


An Unexpected Friendship

by breakofday



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakofday/pseuds/breakofday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur finds his way back to the Shire to visit with his old friend Bilbo Baggins, 40 some-odd years after their adventure together. He finds a friend in Bilbo's young cousin, Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Friendship

It was a bright mid-summer’s day when a strange dwarf rode his shaggy pony into the heart of the Shire.

 

He attracted plenty of stares, though none of the hobbits would admit to it. Hobbiton didn’t get too many strangers, after all, and a dwarf passing through was a rare occurrence. The aging miner smiled to himself as he caught glimpses of curly hair and bright eyes peering over hedges, from behind fences, to stare openly at him. He didn’t bother turning his head their direction; they would only dart away and pretend they were busy in the garden or sweeping the porch or something of the sort.

 

It had been a long time since any of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had visited their burglar, at least by the dwarf’s count. Still, the years passed more quickly to him than they did to hobbits, he knew. Humming cheerfully, he adjusted the mattock slung across his back once more and reached into a pocket to address a roughly drawn map of the Shire. After consulting it for a moment or two, he stuffed it back into his coat and readjusted his pony to take a different path.

 

Bilbo Baggins knew before the dwarf even arrived that he was in the Shire, and when the knock came on Bag End’s (newly repainted) green door, he was eager to open it. Outside stood the dwarf, dressed in dark brown travelling clothes, a peculiar hat, and an enormous grin.

 

“Bofur!” the hobbit cried, clearly delighted, and was immediately swallowed up in a tight hug. He had his hair ruffled for his trouble and the dwarf’s beard was scratchy against the skin of his brow, but Bilbo didn’t care much. “Come in, come in! I was just making tea.”

 

Bofur laughed and stepped inside, glancing around with a nostalgic smile and setting his mattock down in the entryway. “Glad t’ see y’ haven’t lost that ‘ospitality o’ yours,” he remarked in his thick accent, a bright smile on his face as he hung up his travelling cloak on one of the many hooks on the wall. “Don’t s’pose you’ve anythin’ t’ eat as well?”

 

“ _Dwarves_.” The comment was more amused than anything, and Bilbo ushered Bofur into the sitting room. There was a someone already there, a dark haired hobbit with a book in his hands, who looked up immediately upon the mention of dwarves. Intelligent blue eyes looked Bofur up and down, widening slightly, and an almost mischievous smile quirking peach-colored lips upwards.

 

Bilbo stopped before the young hobbit and smiled at the dwarf. “Ah yes. Bofur, my dear cousin Frodo. Frodo, my good friend Bofur.”

 

Frodo set his book aside then and stood, taking one of the dwarf’s dirty, calloused hands in both of his and smiling. “I’ve heard all about you,” he said with a smile, and Bofur glanced at Bilbo.

 

“I should ‘ope not,” the dwarf returned with a laugh, and both the hobbits chuckled.

 

“Let me see what I can find, you sit,” Bilbo told Bofur sternly, giving him a little push into a chair. “I’m sure you’ve had a hard journey. I imagine you’ll want something stronger than tea?”

 

The dwarf backed into the chair as directed and nodded, hazel eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh aye. That much ‘asn’t changed ‘bout me.”

 

Bilbo gave his friend a fond smile before bustling off into the pantry, leaving the guest and the Frodo alone. Frodo looked to have something on his mind, and Bofur gave him a reassuring smile.

 

“I don’t bite much, lad.”

 

A hint of pink rushed into Frodo’s cheeks, but that didn’t stop the words from rushing out of his mouth. “Were you really part of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield?”

 

A touch of sadness worked it’s way into the dwarf’s eyes, but the smile didn’t leave his face as he nodded. “Aye.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice somewhat, as though divulging confidential information. “Though between you an’ me, I only went for th’ free beer.”

 

Frodo grinned. “Bilbo gave me the impression there wasn’t a lot of that.”

 

“There wasn’t,” Bofur agreed. “Not much drink at all. ‘Cept for what Nori nicked from th’ elves in Rivendell.” He leaned back in his chair, nodding in satisfaction. “Aye, ‘twas a good night. Burned their fancy chairs t’ roast sausages. They tried t’ feed us  _greens_ , can y’ imagine?”

 

Frodo’s face was alight with interest, and it was clear Bofur liked to talk about his adventure, not unlike Bilbo. But the different perspective somehow made it that much more...well… _different_ , and Frodo found himself listening intently as the dwarf rambled on about the few bright points on their journey. That night at Rivendell, a few more calmer nights gathered around a campfire, murmured conversations in the dark, the days spent in Beorn’s hall…

 

By the time Bilbo returned, Bofur was retelling the story of the capture of the dwarves by the Mirkwood elves and puffing away at his pipe. Bilbo smiled and resisted the urge to tell the dwarf to smoke outside, instead sitting down without complaint and setting out a tray of fresh bread, cheese, and dried meat, as well as a healthy mug of ale. Bofur thanked his host heartily and went on with the story as he ate.

 

Twilight fell, and after a large dinner, Bilbo turned in early claiming a headache, wishing the two goodnight and inviting Bofur to stay for the night. The dwarf accepted gratefully.

 

Frodo’s questions were endless, and Bofur was more than willing to oblige him. It felt good to have someone to talk to, to share stories of his life and adventures. Talk moved from discussion of the quest to more morbid subjects, as the hobbit inquired curiously as to the nature of the young dwarf princes that had fallen in battle. He wanted to know if they were just as Bilbo had said, after all.

 

The subject seemed to make Bofur terribly sad, so after only a few short anecdotes, Frodo asked instead about what Bofur had been doing since the reclaiming of Erebor some forty or so years prior. The dwarf took cheerfully to the subject, explaining that he and his cousin had given up mining for toymaking instead. They were fabulously wealthy and hardly needed the money, but Bofur’s entire demeanor brightened when describing the excitement of the children. That, he explained, was worth far more than money to him.

 

It was near dawn by the time they finally went to bed that night, and neither of them roused until late the next morning.

 

Bofur stayed on for a few weeks, much to the curiosity of the neighbors, but their stares seemed to amuse rather than trouble him. He was a strange sort of dwarf, Frodo decided, one completely different than the stern faced sons of stone he had grown to expect. Bofur liked the outdoors, he liked flowers and the sky and sitting outside and talking about the shapes of clouds. When a gaggle of young fauntlings abducted his hat and adorned it with a crown of bright yellow flowers, Bofur kept the little blossoms there until they crumbled away. He took joy in everything he could find. When Frodo worked up the courage to question him about _why_  he was so happy, Bofur had gone quiet for several minutes, apparently deep in thought.

 

“When you’ve lived most your life with little t’ be grateful for, y’ either...get angry or y’ look at the positive,” Bofur finally said. “Knew plenty o’ dwarves in Ered Luin like that. We didn’t ‘ave much, most o’ us, ‘specially the lot from Erebor. An’...most of ‘em were so _serious_  an’ bitter. But me, well. I s’pose I jus’ _chose_  t’ be happy instead o’ angry.”

 

He was silent again for another moment. “Bad things ‘appen t’ good people. Lost both m' parents when I was a dwarrow an' had t' raise m' brother mos'ly on my own. Then Bifur was 'urt an' I 'ad him to look after 's well. But I loved 'em. Still do. 'M grateful I got th' chance t' spend so much time with 'em. Jus' because you're hurtin' don’t mean y’ got t’ hold that anger in your ‘eart all your life. Look what ‘appened t’ Thorin.”

 

Bofur looked appalled at himself a moment later. “I...Forgive me. Shouldn’t ‘ave said that. ‘E was a good man. Good king. But th’ lads...”

 

He fell silent, musing to himself, and Frodo knew well enough to leave the subject alone after that.

 

When it was finally time for Bofur to leave, he gave his new young friend a bone-crushing hug and ruffled his hair.

 

“Come an’ see me someday, aye?” he said with a smile. “Anytime y’ like.”

 

Frodo could only nod, a lump sticking in his throat. He waved goodbye with a mixture of sadness to see the dwarf go, and a profound gratitude that he’d had the opportunity to meet Bofur.

 


End file.
